Page 119 of Wrecked
I do miss pizza, though.
I’m so lost in my thoughts I don’t realize that the blue skies start to fade into an orange glow, indicating that the sun is setting. Nate should be back from the river soon. I bring our wet, washed clothes over to the clothing line made from belts that were in the recovered luggage.
The annoyingly loud squawk from the Toucan makes me jump out of my skin. She is nesting right above my head and is especially noisy this time of day.
“Shut up, or I’ll tell Nate we can eat your eggs,” I mutter, annoyed. I’m normally able to immerse myself in the sounds of nature, but she is testing my patience.
I hear the snap of a twig coming from behind the tree. Probably a howler monkey. They’ve been moving into our area because of an unruly caiman that’s been terrorizing the animals along the riverbed. Nate has plans to capture and kill it for dinner.
We named him Randy.
I pick up my pace, wanting to have our clothes hung and dinner started before Nate returns home. I hang a shirt on the line, and I’m suddenly aware of the stillness around me. No birds chirping, no annoying-ass toucan barking—yes, they bark too.
Goosebumps decorate my arms at the eerie feeling, something I haven’t experienced here for months. My senses are heightened, and my instincts have me turning around slowly.
Jaguar.
Directly in front of me.
I stay calm and try to make myself seem bigger, more threatening. Eyeing the door to our home, I consider running to it. But I’m too far, and she’s too fast. I’d have to pass her to get there. I take deep, calm breaths as her bright amber eyes lock onto mine. Her stare is so intense, it sends a chill down my spine. She paces back and forth, her body language indicating she intends to attack. This isn’t a warning. She isn’t shying away, which is often the case with these creatures. She sees me as a threat.
I hear rustling from beside me and slowly turn my head to assess the situation. Her cub inches out of the brush behind me. A toucan feather hanging from its mouth.
Panic surges through me, and I become paralyzed in fear. I’m standing between a mother jaguar and her cub. The odds are not in my favor. I try to edge away from her cub, moving painfully slow so that I don’t provoke her into action. She keeps her eyes on me, a low, deep growl echoing from her throat. She lowers the front half of her body to the ground, baring her sharp teeth.
“Ellie.” Nate’s cautious words, a mere whisper. I didn’t even hear him walk back to camp. “Ellie, baby, walk toward me, slowly.” The jaguar looks over at Nate, cautiously backing up as one threat becomes two.
“Nate.” My voice is filled with fear. “She’s going to attack. Her cub is behind me.” Her eyes whip back to me, and she lets out a high-pitched roar.
Nate bends down slowly and reaches for a large branch. He makes sure her eyes are on me before he tosses it far into the trees behind her. She jumps forward toward her cub just as Nate pulls me backward into his arms. He doesn’t waste a second before taking my hand and running toward our shelter, passing the jaguar and her baby on the way.
Rather than run off, she turns around right as we pass, swiping her large claws in my direction. Nate pushes me out of the way and into the shelter, shielding my body with his own.
It feels like it happens in slow motion.
The jaguar’s sharp claws burrow into Nate’s skin, tearing down his left shoulder all the way to his rib cage. The wail she lets out sounds both angry and terrified. Nate falls to the ground from the impact of her heavy paw, and the jaguar picks up her cub and runs off in the opposite direction of our camp.
I run out of the shelter and help Nate to his feet. Blood trickles out of the large wound in his back, but it looks superficial at first glance. We get back inside our home, closing the door behind us before taking a breath.
“Let me see, let me see,” I chant.
“I’m fine, baby. It’s fine. I’m okay, I can hardly even feel it.”
I run over and grab our first aid kit. It was locked away in the metal box with the flare, so thankfully it wasn’t waterlogged when we got it. I pull out the alcohol swab and antiseptic cream, immediately treating the wound.
It’s deeper than I originally thought, but not deep enough that it needs stitches. The blood flow is already slowing with just a little bit of pressure. I clean it thoroughly, and Nate hisses in pain.
Fuck.
That hurtsme.
It’s so much harder to care for someone you love. I ignore my need to cry and put on the cream before dressing the wound.
“Good as new?” he asks.
“Good as new,” I breathe.
“Where’s my sucker, Doc?” he teases, making a face as he stands up.
